The Further Teenage Years of a Loser Called Rimmer
by Sunrise over the Tango Factory
Summary: Rimmer's life has reached an all time low. With the overwhelming torture of school, teachers, bullies, and his family, Rimmer no longer wants to live. The only option: Suicide
1. Look It up

> 'Bully: noun, a person who deliberately intimidates or persecutes those who are weaker'
> 
> Rimmer glanced up from the dictionary, and allowed his eyes to wander the classroom. He guaranteed that every one of the boys in the room had, at some point in their school lives, teased him, taunted him, tripped him up, knocked him down or beat him up.
> 
> Every single boy had bullied Arnold J. Rimmer. He sadly closed the dog-eared dictionary and stared blankly at the piece of paper that lay on his desk. It was clean, not a single mark on it. Rimmer hated having to spoil the cleanliness and beauty of a fresh piece of paper. His work was always graffitited on with the blood red ink of the teacher's pen, leaking out horrific words and comments such as 'atrocious work Rimmer!' and 'not nearly good enough.'
> 
> This meant that Rimmer's failure was tattooed forever on the poor piece of paper. "Sorry" he whispered sadly to the paper, he slowly picked up his pen and held it poised over the sheet and pondered what to put. The loud, intimidating trill of the school bell made Rimmer jump, scrawling a messy, inky scratch across the crisp, white page.
> 
> "Leave your work on the desk, I'll collect it in" barked Rimmer's English teacher Mr. Marten waling between the desks and snatching his pupils work from under their noses. Rimmer's pulse quickened as the empty, wordless page glared up at him. He quickly stuffed his pencil case into his bag and raced out of the room without looking back.  
  
Rimmer was now 13 ½, and his life was getting harsher. It seemed everyday, his bullies came up with a new taunt, a new way of inflicting pain and misery but they still kept to the old ways. Bonehead. Bonehead forever. Rimmer sat at the very back of the schoolyard, on the floor. His blazer will probably get muddy, and he'll be told off, but he doesn't care. Rimmer wrapt his scrawny arms round his boney knees, and rested his chin on the top. He gazed round the yard with the same tension and anxiety of a small bird, who's seen a hungry cat lurking nearby. A football smacked hard against Rimmer's legs, knocking Rimmer out of his surveillance mode. The ball bounced playfully to the left. He eyed it warily, knowing full well that it's owner would be along any minute and start hassling Rimmer for 'getting in the way of his ball'.
> 
> "Oi, Bonehead!" came a cruel, mocking voice. Rimmer shuddered shamelessly, and turned away, hugging his knees even tighter. "
> 
> Oi, Bonehead, you deaf or something?" laughed the cruel voice. It echoed round Rimmer's brain, and filled him with fear. He raised his head, to get a good look at his tormenter. What he saw made his blood run cold. A gang of 20 or so boys, all grinning at him like hungry, bloodthirsty sharks.
> 
> "Chuck us the ball will you, Bonehead" Rimmer looked at the ball, then back at the boy. It sat only 2 metres away from him, it would be far easier for the boy to walk up and get it. Rimmer knew what the boy was doing, and he didn't like it. He slowly climbed to his feet and walked up to the ball, he then leant down and gently picked it up. Rimmer threw it as best he could; this caused the group of boys to erupt into fits of howling laughter.
> 
> His pathetically weak arms had only thrown the ball a metre away. Rimmer felt blood flush his face in embarrassment as he turned his back on the bullies who were now chanting 'Bonehead' at the top of their voices, and sat down on the dusty floor. Rimmer had tried telling his father about the name- calling he endured at school (he was careful not to let slip the actual names, the last thing he wanted was his father using the bullies names against him)
> 
> "Sticks and stones only break bones, but names can never hurt you," was his all father said without looking up from his paper.
> 
> Rimmer cheered up a bit, but then his father felt it necessary to add "wimp!"  
  
Rimmer stared down at his scruffy, lace up shoes, and wished with all his heart that the bullies would leave him alone. He didn't want to be popular, he didn't want loads of friends, he didn't want to be 'one of the gang, he didn't even want to be liked. All he wanted was to be left alone. Rimmer plucked a stick up off the floor, and began to write in the dirt.
> 
> "Sticks and stones may only break bones, but words can shatter a soul"
> 
> To Rimmer, these words were not just lines, curves, dots and dashes, they became a message, a symbol, a curse. He wrote it out again,
> 
> "Sticks and stones may only break bones, but words can shatter a soul"
> 
> he stared at the message, taking it all in before writing it out again
> 
> "Sticks and stones my only break bones, but words can shatter a soul" and again
> 
> "STICKS AND STONES MAY ONLY BREAK BONES BUT WORDS CAN SHATTER A SOUL!"
> 
> "STICKS AND STONES MAY ONLY BREAK BONES BUT WORDS CAN SHATTER A SOUL!"
> 
> "STICKS AND STONES MAY ONLY BREAK BONES BUT WORDS CAN SHATTER A SOUL!"
> 
> He became so absorbed in writing out the message; he slipped into another world, only when he looked up to check that no one was watching him did he realise that the yard was empty. The bell that signalled the end of break had rang more then 10 minutes ago. Rimmer was late for maths. He picked up his bag and ran across the yard, through the doors and stumbled down the corridor. Even if he ran, as fast as he possibly could, ran like he had never ran before, he'd still be 20 minutes late for his lesson. Rimmer peered through the maths classroom window, and cursed as he saw the whole class was sat working, chatting quietly.
> 
> Rimmer pulled some long forgotten courage from its hiding place, crouched on the floor, and pushed the door open. It's creak went unnoticed and Rimmer began to crawl along the row of desks, praying that he wouldn't be caught. He was a few short crawls away from his desk, when a pair of smart black shoes, and a trouser suit blocked his path. Rimmer reluctantly gazed up into the fuming face of his Math teacher Mr. Johnston,
> 
> "Hello sir" he said meekly.
> 
> "Hello Mister Rimmer, so glad of you to grace us with your presence" growled the teacher, quick as a flash, he hand flew out and grabbed Rimmer's ear. He twisted it painfully before yanking Rimmer onto his feet,
> 
> "Why you late, boy?" he spat, leaning close to Rimmer's face and snarling
> 
> "I...I" stammered Rimmer, trembling with fear
> 
> "YOU WHAT, BOY?" hollered Mr. Johnston,
> 
> "I lost track of time sir," replied Rimmer.
> 
> "You lost track of time?" mocked Mr. Johnston, Rimmer opened his mouth to reply, but the words wouldn't come, so he nodded his head timidly,
> 
> "Well, you know what I do with late comers" Rimmer felt the bottom of his stomach collapse, his heart explode, and a cold, wet sweat begin to drip down his back "
> 
> No sir, please no" he whispered, backing away.
> 
> Mr Johnston's black eyes lit up in glee, he grasped Rimmer's thin wrists and dragged him to the front of the class. By this time all eyes were on Rimmer, and awaiting his demise.
> 
> "Please, sir" Rimmer screamed, hot tears rolling down his cheeks, "please, please, don't, I'm begging you, sir please"
> 
> "You need to be taught your lesson," yelled Mr. Johnston, he turned Rimmer's hand over, palm facing upwards, and got out of his draw, the things that Rimmer's nightmares were made of.
> 
> A cane, a long, flexible, wooden cane, it was hand carved from an oak tree, and was one of the most powerful and destructive things Rimmer had ever had the misfortune to come across.
> 
> Mr. Johnston grinned wickedly, as he raised the cane above his head, and brought it slashing down on Rimmer's palm.
> 
> Every boy in the room winced as the 'swoosh' of the cane ended, and it made contact with Rimmer's hand. Rimmer bit his lower lip, and realised a tidal wave of tears. Mr. Johnston let out a satisfied chuckle, and raised the cane above his head, and brought it down again with more vigour than last time. With every hit of the cane, Rimmer's pleading screams, got louder and louder, and Mr. Johnston's satisfaction grew. After 15 hits of the cane, Mrs Johnston lowered the cane, and placed it loving on the desk,
> 
> "Still want to turn up late for my lessons, Rimmer?" he asked, giving Rimmer a frown. Rimmer nursed his sore, red hands, and shook his head.
> 
> "Good" barked Mr. Johnston, Rimmer shuffled over to his desk, running his fingers delicately over the already bruising skin of his palm.
> 
> Every pair of eyes in the room was on him, every face was grinning, and every soul hated Arnold J. Rimmer.


	2. You can't choose your family

> That night, Rimmer hobbled to his dormitory, sore, bruised, confused and disgraced. Today had been horrible for Rimmer,
> 
> he had failed English,
> 
> been caned in maths
> 
> knocked off his feet with a stray rugby ball in P.E,
> 
> and then he had a detention with his chemistry teacher Mrs Hanson, for accidentally knocking over a flask of acid, when someone had hit him of the back of the head. He had tried to explain that it wasn't his fault, but he gave up.
> 
> The teachers hated him, the pupils hated him even more, the only thing in the school that didn't hate him was the class hamster Speedy, who would often snap at Rimmer's fingers for no apparent reason.
> 
> 'Life' thought Rimmer 'sucks' He was about to climb into bed, to rest his aching limbs, sore hands, and tense neck, when he remembered he had maths work to do, he reluctantly grabbed his school bag, and headed for the library.  
  
Rimmer awoke the next day feeling fresher, brighter and more hopeful. Today was the last day of the spring term, and at 4 o' clock today, Rimmer would be going home for 2 weeks, for the Easter holidays.
> 
> He needed some time away from this hellhole of a school, away from the bullies and the teachers. Over breakfast Rimmer couldn't help smiling, but his mood dramatically changed. There was a new boy at school, he was every girls dream boy, he was handsome, athletic, brave, he immediately fell in with the right people and he became popular in less then a day, and in less than an hour, he became Rimmer's enemy. Rimmer frowned and lowered his eyes to his bowl of cereal,
> 
> "Mornin' Bonehead!" laughed the new boy,
> 
> "Morning" Rimmer said with false cheeriness, before muttering under his breath "hair flicking tosser!"
> 
> He hated popular people, he didn't always, but now, it was second nature. Popular people will do anything to keep hold of their power, be it by ditching all of their longest and dearest friends or by acting hard by bulling others, and once people get onto the popularity roller coaster, its hard to get off.
> 
> Rimmer chewed his cereal thoughtfully, as he remembered Elizabeth. A girl he had met one day in Io Park when he was skiving off, and he fell instantly in love with her. She was kind, funny, sensitive, and a victim of bullies, just like him. She went to the only all girls school in Io, but before Rimmer could see her, and tell her how he truly felt, she was expelled, and her parents moved, taking the love of his life with them. Rimmer woke up each day, and blamed himself, he blamed himself for being stupid, and not telling her how he felt from the off, he told himself he was worthless because he didn't get there in time. This meant that before Rimmer had even had his breakfast, he was drowning in a sea of darkness and despair. All day, every day.
> 
> The shrill school bell signalled the end of breakfast, and the students dispersed into their appropriate classrooms. Rimmer sighed, and tugged his bag down the corridor, his first lesson was English, and no doubt he'd be in trouble-again, for not doing his work. Rimmer took a deep breath and prepared to face the music.  
  
Rimmer raced out of Io house as fast as his spinally legs would carry him; he jumped joylessly through the gates, and smiled. Freedom, for a fortnight. His parents had apologised for not coming to pick him up, but his mother had to work and his father was picking up John from the airport. Rimmer didn't mind, nothing could spoil his mood.
> 
> He walked lazily along the smart terraced streets, until he arrived at his house. Rimmer shielded his eyes from the sun, and looked up at it. It looked like a plain, ordinary family suburban house, but to Rimmer, it was a place connected with countless memories. Some good, some bad. He smiled as happily as he could, and knocked on the door, he saw his mother scuttling down the hall,
> 
> "Here's my big, brave boy" she cooed excitedly as she flung open the door, smiling, arms open for a warm hug, when she saw it was Rimmer, he face fell, "Oh Hello Arnold, I didn't think you'd be here so soon."
> 
> Rimmer could detect a slight hint of acid in her voice, he shifted nervously from foot to foot, wondering what he could say when his mother suddenly screamed
> 
> "JOHN!" she cried, barging past Rimmer, she ran down the drive and wrapped her arms round her eldest son kissing him, "ooh John" she said, eyeing him up and down "Haven't you grown!"
> 
> Rimmer felt the old 'twinge of jealousy' begin to rekindle, he hated John, he hated all of his brothers, they were so unlike him, so polite, so smart so...perfect.
> 
> John walked up the garden path, chatting happily to his mother and father about how well he was doing at the Space Corps and how much money he had, it was only when he reached the front door, did he notice his youngest brother, scowling at him.
> 
> "Arn" he said smiling at his brother, wrapping him into a tight hug. For anyone that was watching, they would have thought that John was showing his brotherly love; only this was not the case. John had cleverly disguised his hatred towards Rimmer; he had dug his nails forcefully into Rimmer's back, before giving him a hard thump, which knocked the wind out of Rimmer. He then pulled away, smiling but wearing eyes that said 'tell a soul and your dead!'
> 
> "Well Arnold" snapped his mother "don't you have something to say to your brother?" "No" replied Rimmer moodily,
> 
> "Arnold-" said his mother, raising her finger, and getting ready to nag,
> 
> "Leave it Mother," said John, taking hold of her hand and lowering it, "he's obviously intimidated by me being here, he's not seen me in ages, and he feels inferior!" '
> 
> What' screamed a little voice in Rimmer's head 'where the hell did he get that from? Inferior to him, a stupid, poncy git! As If!'
> 
> "He's worried that he'll never meet up to our standards and will live in the shadow of me, and Howard and Frank," continued John.
> 
> Rimmer glared at John, who was smiling a smile, only Rimmer could spot; he barged past him, and ran up the stairs. Rimmer yanked open his bedroom door, and slammed it with such force that the pictures that lined the hall shook, he threw himself down on his bed, and began exhaling angrily.
> 
> Then he realised something was different. His room. They'd changed his room. All his pictures, books, toys-gone, they'd even re-decorated it.
> 
> Rimmer couldn't hold it in any longer, he began to cry. The room was bland; the sort of place you'd put unwanted guests for the night. There was only one picture in the room, a huge frame that dominated the west wall, Rimmer wiped his blurry eyes, and walked over to inspect it.
> 
> It was a family portrait, of his family, there was his dad, looking proud, and the figure of authority, his mother, smiling, John, Frank, Howard...and no him. Rimmer clenched his fists in fury; they'd had a family portrait done, without him. The portrait showed the ideal family, a mother, a father and 3 handsome, smart heroic young boys.
> 
> There was no room in the perfect family for a screw up, a failure, a wimp, and a bonehead. Rimmer let out a scream and grabbed the frame of the portrait and threw it to the floor, where it smashed into a thousand pieces. Rimmer stood, quiet shocked by his show of aggression and strength, he suddenly realised what he'd done when the sound of his parents footsteps pounded on the stairs.
> 
> His father was the first to enter; he looked at Rimmer then at the broken portrait. His mother came rushing in next, and when she saw what Rimmer had done, she gave a little cry, and put her hand over her mouth.
> 
> Needless to say John, Frank and Howard were all gathered by the doorway, shaking their heads and grinning. Rimmer's anger built up again,
> 
> "Why wasn't I on it?" he screamed at the top of his lungs,
> 
> "You were at school, we couldn't have brought you out to have a family portrait could we" snapped his mother.
> 
> "Yes you could," cried Rimmer, beginning to cry, "its not that far away, you could have had it done on a Saturday!" "
> 
> Talk sense, boy," yelled his father,
> 
> "I am" Rimmer yelled back "do you not consider my part of this family?"
> 
> No one answered
> 
> "Do you?" asked Rimmer taking a step towards them,
> 
> "yes, of course" his mother replied, her voice unusually high,
> 
> "Then why have a family portrait done, with a member of the family missing," cried Rimmer, his vision was going all blurry and his heart was begging to ache. "Are you ashamed of me?" he asked,
> 
> "No" replied his father "but the way you're acting now, it's a wonder we're not ashamed of you"
> 
> Rimmer ran forward, his small, bony hands curled up into fists, he wanted to hit his father, he wanted to tear him limb from limb, something that he's been wanting to do for ages.
> 
> His father was quiet taken aback by Rimmer's punches, usually the boy was timid, frail and fearing of his father, it took a few seconds for his father to respond. He hit Rimmer.
> 
> Not a smack,
> 
> not a light tap,
> 
> but a punch, a strong punch, right on the side of the face. I
> 
> t sent Rimmer toppling to the floor, he gasped and held his cheek, he stared up at his father, with a face that said 'why', his father stone-eyed glare didn't waver, he grunted before striding down the stairs, and away from his pathetic excuse for a son.
> 
> John, Howard and Frank followed, leaving Rimmer alone with his mother, and the destroyed portrait.
> 
> "Mum..." he said softly, holding out a hand to her, with pleading eyes. His mother shook her head sadly, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, and turning the key, locking him in.


	3. The trouble with truth

> Rimmer sighed unhappily, it was the last day of the Easter holidays, the sun was shining, and yet here he was, cooped up in his room like an endangered animal to be gawped at. He was being punished, for smashing up the family portrait that he wasn't in. He was locked in his room everyday, for the past 2 weeks, his bedroom door was only opened for him to go the bathroom, and to have his meals.
> 
> On the last day of the holiday, he was dragged downstairs by his father and forced into a chair. His father sat opposite him, eyes bulging madly,
> 
> "You will have not any pocket money till every penny is paid back for that portrait," yelled his father.
> 
> Rimmer laughed. What pocket money, he was never given any, he was being denied one of the simply luxuries of being a kid, being given money, no matter how small the amount, and spending it on things you want. This simple act of thoughtlessness, earned Rimmer a smack around the face.
> 
> "Do I make myself clear" growled his father,
> 
> "Yes," mumbled Rimmer, rubbing his stinging cheek,
> 
> "Yes what?" asked his father,
> 
> "Yes sir" humoured Rimmer,
> 
> "Good" said his father, "anything else?"
> 
> "Where's my books, my toys, my stuff?"
> 
> "In the attic" snarled his dad, picking the newspaper off the table, and beginning to read.  
  
Rimmer coughed as years of dust suffocated his nostrils. His father's footsteps were still imprinted on the floor, for when he had dumped Rimmer's stuff up here. Rimmer couldn't help feeling a little unloved as he shifted through family heirlooms, old board games, and junk, you didn't see any of John's stuff or Howard's or Frank's stuff being boxed up and shoved into a dusty attic the moment their back was turned.
> 
> John had left home nearly 3 years ago, why was his room left intact, and why did Rimmer still have the smallest room in house. When he posed that question to his parents his mother said that John was likely to visit her weekly, and she wanted him to have his old room while he was staying. Out of the three years John had been living away from home, he'd visited his mother, twice, and both times was to borrow money, which his parents gave him willingly.
> 
> Rimmer suddenly spotted his old, tatty teddy bear peeking up from one of the boxes, he clambered over to it. His father had put Rimmer's boxes underneath the leaky part of the roof. He knew full well that every winter without fail, a huge torrent of water would leak through, destroying anything that had the misfortune to be in its way. Rimmer cursed as loud as he dared, as he dragged the already soggy cardboard box into the dim glow of the attic light bulb.
> 
> He gratefully picked up the teddy, and gave it a squeeze. Through out his child hood that bear had been his only friend, then one day his father came storming into his bedroom, yanked the bear out of Rimmer's hands and said 'you're too big for teddy bears'.
> 
> Rimmer was only 5 years old at the time.
> 
> He gave the bear one last hug, before sitting it down on the floor, he began shifting through his meagre amount of possessions. Rimmer picked up a worn out, old book and grinned. If there was one thing in the world he enjoyed, one thing he treasured, it would be his books.
> 
> Once he opened the covers, and began to read, he got sucked in, the apocalypse could be taking place right next to him and he wouldn't even notice. The books Rimmer adored most were books about war heroes, men who were brave, honourable, and strong. Rimmer would spend hours, pouring over the books, absorbing the information, hoping, praying that he might gain some a Napoleon's bravery or Ceasers might, something that would make his father loathe him less.
> 
> Rimmer had stayed up in the attic all night, reading his books, dreaming of what never could be, when his father came bursting through the trap door,
> 
> "What are you doing up here" he yelled, grabbing Rimmer's wrist and twisting it painfully,
> 
> "I...I came to get my things" squealed Rimmer, as his father gave his wrist another threatening squeeze.
> 
> "why haven't you got them then, you pathetic, intoreable creature!"
> 
> "I...I.."
> 
> "Spit it out" snarled his father;
> 
> Rimmer had opened his mouth to reply when his mother's shrill, overly polite voice that she only used when she had company rang up into the attic.
> 
> "The Clarkson's are here darling" In the pale light of the attic bulb, his fathers face turned white. He grasped Rimmer's shoulders, and hissed through gritted teeth, "best behaviour boy or else"
> 
> Rimmer didn't want to know what his father meant by or else, when he'd used that phrase in the past, Rimmer ended up in so much pain, death had never looked so appealing.
> 
> His father led Rimmer down the stairs. The Clarkson's were a very important family in his fathers eyes. Graham Clarkson was his father's boss, and he continuously boasted about his perfect family. Naturally Rimmer's father had boasted about his 3 sons, and how his youngest, Arnold was coming top in every class.
> 
> This made Rimmer laugh, the last time he'd come top in a class was art in infants, he'd accidentally knocked over his paint pot, spilling yellow, and green paint all over a piece of paper. His teacher had loved it, describing it as 'modern art', and gave him a gold star. His first and last.
> 
> Rimmer's heart skipped a beat as he was thrown in front of Mr and Mrs. Clarkson and their 15-year-old daughter Natasha. Rimmer gulped as he felt the stares of the Clarkson's penetrate his body and soul. Rimmer had often heard his father talk about Natasha, she was polite, well mannered, spent Saturday nights at the opera, intelligent, poised. What his father described as a 'proper women'.
> 
> "Ahhh" sighed Mr. Clarkson, getting up off the couch to meet Rimmer "so this is the youngest? Delighted to meet you, Arnold" he shook Rimmer's hand vigorously, sending the thick layer of dust on Rimmer's shirt spiralling into the air, "god heavens boy" exclaimed Mr Clarkson, wafting away the cloud of dust "where've you been?"
> 
> "attic" said his father hastily "the boys just loves exploring. If he's not out and about, climbing trees and running wild in the woods, he's got his head in a book, haven't ya, you little rascal" His father began ruffling up Rimmer's hair so hard, Rimmer was sure his head would drop off. He then led Rimmer to sit imbetween him and his mother on the sofa.
> 
> "pretty luck aren't you lad" said Mr Clarkson, wrapping his arm round his wife "having such good parents and fine strapping brothers to look up to"
> 
> "luck doesn't even begin to describe it" said Rimmer, forcing a smile,
> 
> "We're so proud of him" said his mother tearfully, "he's my angel" His mother unexpectedly pulled Rimmer into a hug, placing his head on her chest and stroking his hair, "he's my perfect little angle from God" she said happily.
> 
> Rimmer had never felt so scared in his entire life, his mother never hugged him, especially not in public.
> 
> "Ooh" sighed Mrs Clarkson, smiling "how sweet, I never get to spend any time with my daughter, Natasha nowadays, she's always out and about, homework clubs, girl guides, the library, going to operas with her friends"
> 
> Natasha flashed Rimmer a grin, and smoothed out the creases in her skirt,
> 
> "I hope you won't find my frightfully rude" announced Natasha, tossing her hair. She put on a mock posh, upper class accent, "but may I trouble you for a drink?"
> 
> "No trouble at all" smiled his father "Arnold will you get the lovely Natasha a drink"
> 
> Rimmer prised himself free from his mother's clawing grasp, and led Natasha to the kitchen
> 
> "out of the way squirt" she hissed knocking him against the wall, Rimmer was speechless, where was this polite, well-spoken academic girl that his father would often talk about. He followed her into the kitchen, and leant against the door frame,
> 
> 'if she wants a drink so bad' thought Rimmer 'she'll ask for one'
> 
> "where've you been, babe" came John's voice, Rimmer turned round to see him wrapping his arm round Natasha's waist and pulling her close. She reached up and allowed her bleached blonde hair to tumble from its neat bun, she then pulled up her skirt till it just barely covered the base of her bum,
> 
> "parents" she said simply, leaning towards John and kissing him. Rimmer felt nauseated, John and Natasha, a schoolgirl, not even old enough to have sex yet. "d'you think you could" John began kissing Natasha's neck, and unbuttoning her blouse, "slip away?" he asked.
> 
> Rimmer's eyes widened as Natasha returned John's lusty kisses. He ran back down the hall and burst into the living room where his father was talking 'business' to Mr Clarkson,
> 
> "Mother...father" he gasped,
> 
> "what Arnold?" hissed his mother, her kind loving tone from earlier disappeared.
> 
> "John and Natasha are..." he trailed off, wondering how he was going to break the bad news to his father's boss that his daughter was going to partake in underage sex with his employee's eldest son.
> 
> "are what?" asked Mrs Clarkson, raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows.
> 
> "kissing" he said reluctantly "and I think there are going to go further"
> 
> "WHAT!" roared Mr Clarkson, jumping to his feet
> 
> "Yes" said Rimmer "they're in the kitchen" inside his head Rimmer was laughing, John would be in for it now, trying to get 15 year old school girls into bed, that would shatter his spotless image.
> 
> "How dare you say such a thing about my Natasha" screamed Mrs Clarkson striding over to Rimmer,
> 
> "but-" protested Rimmer
> 
> "but nothing, my Natasha would never do anything like that"
> 
> "And neither would John" said his father, squeezing his shoulder with an iron grip.
> 
> "But they are" whined Rimmer "I saw them, come look" Rimmer ran out of the lounge, down the hall and went skidding into the kitchen "see look, they're" he stopped.
> 
> They weren't, John and Natasha were sat at the dining table, reading. Natasha's hair was back in its neat bun, and her skirt was knee length. John turned to face Rimmer, as Mr and Mrs Clarkson and his mother and father came racing in behind them
> 
> "Something wrong?" he asked, closing the book he was reading. Natasha did a false gasp "sorry Mummy, sorry Daddy, I came to get a drink, and John told me about this fan-tas-tic book he'd been reading, so...well you know me and books" she let out a high pitched laugh, and placed a hand on her chest, she met Rimmer's eyes and he could swear she mouthed 'perv' at him.
> 
> "What's wrong with your youngest then?" yelled Mr Clarkson going red,
> 
> "yes" screamed Mrs Clarkson, "I won't a accept anybody saying such...such horrid things about my daughter!"
> 
> "what did he say mummy?" asked Natasha innocently,
> 
> "He said that you and John were kissing, and...and well...were planning on going a lot further"
> 
> Natasha gasped, covering her startled mouth with her hand "he didn't" she said, her blue eyes brimming with crocodile tears.
> 
> "yes he did" said Mr Clarkson glaring at Rimmer,
> 
> "ooh mummy" cried Natasha, running into her mother's arms and sobbing loudly. "There, there sweet heart" cooed Mrs Clarkson, rubbing Natasha's back, and rocking her gently. Through her mothers arms Natasha shot Rimmer a sly smile, he grimaced.
> 
> "come on dears, we're leaving" said Mr Clarkson, already striding for the front door.
> 
> "I'm sorry Mr Clarkson, you'll have to excuse my son he's-" gabbled his father,
> 
> "he's not right in the head, if he goes around accusing 15 year old girls and fine upstanding, young men of sexual activities for a joke. I have never been so ashamed or outraged in my life," he tugged on his coat and glared at Rimmer's father, "and you can just forget about that pay rise, Rimmer, you'll be lucky to still have a job after this" he slammed the front door, and was gone.
> 
> For a moment nobody said anything, Rimmer wished he could stay like this forever, not having to deal with the consequences, telling the truth had got him into. His father let out a noise like an angry, injured, ferocious animal, he lunged at Rimmer, grabbed his shirt collar, and with one swift blow to the side of the head, knocked him against the door frame, and then everything went blissfully black for Rimmer.  
  
When he regained consciousness, he was sat on the back seat of his father's car. His head throbbed painfully, his eyes wouldn't focus and his body was stiff, he could barely move his legs more than a couple of centimetres before wincing. He glanced out the window, it was dark, and gloomy and thunder and lightning lashed the pitch-black sky. He had no idea where his father was taking him, or what was going to happen to him.
> 
> After 10 minutes of driving through the storm, his father turned the car into a driveway. Through the pelting rain, Rimmer could make out the shillouette of Io House. Fear began to flow through Rimmer's blood stream, school didn't start till tomorrow, none of the teachers would be there, the school would be locked. He gazed down at his watch, 9.31 p.m.
> 
> The car stopped outside the front doors, his father got out, opened the trunk and removed Rimmer's small suitcase, he placed it on the steps of the school. He opened the door, and gestured for Rimmer to get out, he climbed out with shaking legs and looked up at his father, his eyes glowed dangerously, his face set in anger. His father strode towards the car, ready to leave.
> 
> "no ones here" said Rimmer, hoping his father would change his mind.
> 
> "I won't be able to get it, it's locked!" still his father ignored him,
> 
> "let me come home" cried Rimmer, limping after his father, who climbed into the car, turned the ignition and began to drive away,
> 
> "I hate you" screamed Rimmer,
> 
> "I HATE YOU!" he plucked a stone off the gravel path and hurled it at his father's car, it bounced off the boot, leaving a permanent scratch but still his father drove on
> 
> "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you" yelled Rimmer, getting quieter, and quieter. He slumped to the floor, and laid his head in his hands and not for the first time in his life, did he wish he was dead.


	4. Shattered glass and souls

> Rimmer was sat, tapping his pencil on the desk in the library, trying to do his English essay. It seemed very unfair to Rimmer that the other boys in his class could quickly scribble something down 5 minutes before class and pass, and he could spend 5 hours, working his socks off only to recieve a fail.
> 
> Rimmer groaned as he glanced at his watch, the Librarian would kick him out in an hour, he had to work fast.
> 
> 'Write about the greatest day of your life' that was his essay topic. Rimmer had broken out into a cold sweat when Mr. Marten had announced the topic, he didn't have 'a greatest day' of his life, he had contemplated writing about the day he had met Elizabeth, but he quickly dismissed the idea, feeling it to be too personal, and something that he wanted to keep a secret.
> 
> "I'm still waiting for the greatest day of my life to happen," said Rimmer quietly, his pale eyes lit up as a thought struck him. Why not write about not having 'a greatest day of your life', okay it wasn't the topic that he was asked to do, but Rimmer felt that if he put every once of effort he had, he might be able to get a low pass, or at the least a high fail. He put pencil to paper and began to write.  
  
_I am still waiting for the greatest day of my life to happen, but when it does it won't be me winning the lottery, getting a beautiful girlfriend, or buying a sports car, it will be something much more simple and it will go like this. Firstly I'd wake up, and after having a peaceful breakfast, I'd go to my lessons, and be told that I have passed them all, not with top marks, not with 'flying colours' but just passed them, which for me, is good enough. I'll then have a nice school day, and by nice I mean having no one calling me names or tripping me up. I'd just be left alone to do my own thing, and maybe someone might come over and talk to me, and want to be my friend. At the end of the school day, I'll go outside where my mum and dad will be waiting to pick me up, they'll hug and kiss me, and tell me that they love me. We'd drive home, where my three brothers John, Frank and Howard will be waiting for me, they'll give me a pat on the back and a 'welcome home' and we'd then play catch in the garden  
_  
When Rimmer signed his name at the bottom, his hand was aching, and his eyes were drooping. He looked at the piece of paper, covered in his tiny writing and smiled. It was a little bit scruffy, he'd crossed out bits, there were loads of spelling mistakes and there were a couple of tear drops when Rimmer had got a bit upset, but other then that, it was perfect.
> 
> As Rimmer packed up his things, he thought about whether he'd get a pass or not, the essay he wrote wasn't the same as the topic, but he'd tried his hardest on it, and that was all that mattered.  
  
Later that day, after he'd handed in his English essay to a very shocked Mr. Marten, Rimmer had maths, things were going well, but as always something had to go wrong.
> 
> "Right, I've got to go find the extra calculators for Miss Smith, just get on with your work quietly, and no messing around" shouted Mr Johnston, walking out of the room, glaring at his maths class.
> 
> Rimmer felt the colour drain out of his face, whenever the teacher left the room, the class would turn on Rimmer. He gripped his pencil with sweaty hands, and stared at his work till it blurred out of focus. He hoped that if he stayed as quiet as he could, didn't move or draw any attention to himself, they'd leave him alone. They didn't. "Hey, Bonehead" Rimmer jumped at the sound of his infamous nickname,
> 
> "Hey, Bonehead" The new boy, who Rimmer found out was called, Brian Lawson, came storming over to Rimmer's desk, "I over heard the head teacher say he found you asleep on the school steps, on the first morning back of school" he paused, checking to see if he had a sufficient audience "what's the matter, parents finally got rid of you?"
> 
> "Leave me alone," mouthed Rimmer,
> 
> "What, Bonehead" asked Brian, grinning "didn't quite catch that, Bonehead, could you repeat that please, BONEHEAD!"
> 
> "leave me alone" said Rimmer,
> 
> "you telling me what to do now, Bonehead,?" Rimmer only half noticed the class, gathering round him and Brian, eagerly awaiting a fight,
> 
> "no" said Rimmer weakly, "I just want you to leave me alone"
> 
> "well I don't want to, Bonehead!"
> 
> Slowly, the class began to chant 'Bonehead, Bonehead, Bonehead' getting louder and louder and louder, and louder, till Rimmer couldn't take it any more, he leapt up from his desk, knocked Brian out of the way, barged past Mr Johnston who was just walking in the door, and ran down the corridor.
> 
> "Rimmer" he yelled angrily, while the class all scrambled back to their desks, "get back here now!"
> 
> Rimmer didn't go back, he didn't even look back, he carried on running, until he got the boys bathroom, and he raced inside and shut the door, and sat against it. He was shaking in anger and fear, tears soaked his face.
> 
> "why can't they just leave me alone" asked Rimmer to no one in particular, he got up, and walked over to the sinks that lined the wall, he looked into the mirror.
> 
> He saw the face that his parents loathed.
> 
> He saw the face that bullies loved to torture.
> 
> He saw the face that made his teachers snarl.
> 
> He saw the face that everyone hated.
> 
> His face.
> 
> Rimmer let out a scream and began to bash the mirror as hard as he could. His fists screamed in pain, but Rimmer kept going, with every hit, his anger was realised, but his body was creating more and more anger.
> 
> As fast as he was realising it, his body was creating more of it, so the pain was building up, everything bad that had ever happened to Rimmer was coming back to haunt him,
> 
> The day John broke his train set on purpose and blamed it on Rimmer.
> 
> The day his father broke Rimmer's arm, hitting him too hard,
> 
> The week he had no meals for failing a maths test,
> 
> The day he missed out on the chance of telling Elizabeth how he felt.
> 
> Rimmer gave a final scream, and hit the mirror with an otherworldly force, the mirror shattered into a million pieces and rained onto the tiled floor.
> 
> Rimmer stood staring at the wall that had held the mirror. All he saw was his life stretching in front of him,
> 
> Another 3 years of school,
> 
> Another 5 years before he could move out of his parent's house,
> 
> His work life, which lasted 47 years, sometimes more.
> 
> 47 years working with people who will probably hate him as much as the students do now.
> 
> Then there was retirement, which will be lonely, and dull.
> 
> Rimmer was expected the live 85 years, he's only lived 13, his life was stretching out in front of him, a life, alone, and finally dying, old, unloved and depressed.
> 
> Rimmer cried, and looked down into the sink, a thin shard of glass blinked up at him,
> 
> 'go on' it purred encouragingly 'it's the only way Rimmer, the only way you can truly be happy!'
> 
> He gingerly picked the glass up from the sink, he turned it over in his hands, it was smooth, it caught the light, and it seemed to beg to be used. With shaking hands he held the glass over his wrists. A weak smile stretched over Rimmer's lips as the glass sliced through the delicate flesh on each wrist, and he let out a little laugh as the blood began to trickle out...


	5. Awakening

> The first thing Rimmer noticed was the smell: an over powering stench of bleach, antiseptic and pine fragranced floor polish. He wrinkled his nose up,
> 
> 'God, I never thought heaven would stink of cleaning products" he paused and mulled the concept over "unless...unless I didn't go to heaven and...and I've gone 'down' instead'
> 
> He forced his eyes open and breathed a sigh of immense relief when he realised he wasn't in hell, but in a hospital bed. 'Why am I in hospital?" he pondered, then the memories came flooding back. Rimmer groaned "I even fail at trying to kill myself" he slowly lifted up his arms and turned them over, sure enough his thin, frail wrists were hidden in layers and layers of stark, white bandages, but Rimmer could still feel the cuts beneath them it was a dull, hot grinding pain, like a constant reminder of his wickedness.
> 
> He gazed dolefully round the room, it reminded him very much of his re-decorated bedroom back home. It had off- white walls and cheap pine furniture, no pictures, no flowers, no cards, in fact there was nothing in the room that suggested Rimmer had any family. He then saw his parents talking to a pompous looking doctor through the observation window. His mother was smoking a cigarette nervously – his mother never smoked. Rimmer cheered up a little, this is what his parents needed, a short, sharp shock. Maybe once they'd realised how close they came to losing their youngest boy, they'd treat him better.
> 
> Rimmer didn't hear what the doctor was saying but he caught the words '
> 
> therapy' and 'physiatrist'.
> 
> "no" said his father firmly "there's no way I'm sending him to a shrink"
> 
> "Mr Rimmer" said the doctor with a sigh "I really think Arnold would benefit from psychiatric help, he'd make a full recovery and would have a decreased chance of him ever attempting to do something like this again- "
> 
> "he don't need a smarmy, over paid old git talking to him to stop him from doing it again" growled his father "all he needs is a couple of hard punches, that'd put him back on track"
> 
> "yes, but-" attempted the doctor
> 
> "but nothing, he's not going to a physiatrist end of story!"
> 
> The doctor sighed yet again, it didn't take anyone with a PhD to see that Arnold was unhappy, but a parent's word is law in the medical field, if they say no, it means no. The doctor turned to see Rimmer sat up in bed, his eyes were dark, and he looked frail and tired, but perhaps a visit from his parents might brighten his day.
> 
> "well it looks like your little Arnolds awake, you can go in now, try not to got him over excited." His father grunted at the doctor before striding into the room where his youngest and most shame worthy son was lay.
> 
> When Rimmer saw his parent's angry faces his hopes of them treating him better were smashed to smithereens, he shrank back with a petrified squeak as his mother sat on the bedside chair, with his father standing behind her with a face like thunder.
> 
> "Right, Arnold" his mother snapped nastily "would you like to tell us why you did this?"
> 
> "no said Rimmer softly, already his watery eyes filling with tears,
> 
> "tell us now, boy before I really give you something to cry about!" bellowed his father.
> 
> Rimmer felt a familiar stabbing feeling descend on his body. Rimmer felt that every person in his life was represented by a pin, whenever they hurt him, by calling a name or hitting him, he felt like this pin was thrust into his body. Lately these pins had multiplyed so sometimes it felt like 20 or even 30 pins. Also, they were no longer pins, they'd grown, evolved into long, thin knives, knives that would slice through Rimmer's flimsy body with no remorse or pity. Rimmer had many reasons why he wanted to kill himself:
> 
> His parents hated him.
> 
> He hated his school.
> 
> He was constantly bullied.
> 
> His life was hell. He couldn't go on.
> 
> He hated himself.
> 
> Rimmer could have said any one of these reasons to his parents, but he didn't want to, he wanted to keep it a secret, so he simply shrugged his drooping shoulders and mumbled "dunno"
> 
> His father snorted before storming out of the room, his mother watched him go before turning back to her youngest child, disappointment plastered on her face. It was a face Rimmer had witnessed many times before.
> 
> "we're so ashamed of you" she got up, and without so much as a good bye, she walked out the door, trying to catch up with her husband.
> 
> Rimmer bit his lip to stop himself crying, but it all became too much, he broke down into huge, agonizing sobs. 'they really do hate me' he thought miserably 'they didn't even care!'
> 
> A nervous cough from across the room, pulled Rimmer from his emotional low, he squinted through his teary eyes and say a very awkward looking Mr Johnston.
> 
> "is this a bad time?" he asked "because I'll leave if you want?"
> 
> "no" sniffed Rimmer "I'm okay, sir, just a little upset"
> 
> "I think you're more than a little upset if you try to kill yourself" said Mr Johnston sitting down on the bedside chair like his mother had done.
> 
> Rimmer paled "you know about that, sir. How?"
> 
> "I was the one who found you" replied Mr Johnston, suddenly fascinated by his hands "after you ran from my classroom, I did a bit of interrogating. When it seemed the whole class was being very unwilling, I had to get the cane out. After 3 hits of it, Brian Lawson was close to collapsing, you took 15! You might not look it but, you're a tough nut to crack, Rimmer" he said giving him a playful tap on the shoulder which Rimmer couldn't help but smile at. "so after Lawson tells me everything that happened, I go storming after you, dead set on teaching you not to run away from me. After asking in a couple of classrooms if they'd seen you, I guessed you'd be hiding in the boy's toilets. So I go in, and I see....you...you...were..." He trailed off and hastily wiped his eyes, Rimmer noticed his hands were shaking.
> 
> "sir, are you alright?" he asked meekly,
> 
> Mr Johnston let out a false chuckle, "it's me who should be asking you that question, Rimmer" he gave a reassuring smile before pausing, he was wondering if it would be a too personal question to ask, "Rimmer, do you mind me asking why you...why you wanted...felt the need to..."
> 
> "kill myself?" said Rimmer bluntly,
> 
> "yes" said Mr Johnston quite taken aback by Rimmer's ability to talk so openly about it.
> 
> "no body likes me" said Rimmer, already he felt his eyes pricking and a strong feeling of shame and embarrassment fill him, he's cried 3 times now in front of the most fiercest maths teacher, if that didn't count as weak, what did?
> 
> "that's not true" replied Mr Johnston "I like you"
> 
> "oh yeah" replied Rimmer, rubbing his red eyes "why'd you cane me then?"
> 
> Mr Johnston's cheery face melted into a look of sheer guilt. "I must apologise about that, I acted irresponsibly and your punishment was far to extreme for what you did, but I had just been teaching 4D and they're a class that would make Jesus spit and fume in anger"
> 
> A lengthy, awkward silence took place, neither knew what to say, so they thought it best o say nothing at all. Mr Johnston gazed round the room, in an attempt to life the silence he said "depressing room isn't it?"
> 
> "yeah" agreed Rimmer, to tired to branch out his answer
> 
> "so when are you getting out a hospital?" asked Mr Johnston,
> 
> "next week" replied Rimmer, stifling a yawn "they want to keep me in for a bit, just as a precaution because I lost quite a lot of blood"
> 
> "and then will you go home for a while?" Rimmer's head drooped,
> 
> Mr Johnston sensed he put his foot in it asked, "have I said something wrong?"
> 
> "I can't go home" Rimmer replied sorrowfully,
> 
> "why?" asked Mr Johnston,
> 
> "I don't want to talk about it, sir" said Rimmer, averting his eyes away from his teacher.
> 
> Mr Johnston wanted Rimmer to talk about it, he'd often worried about him, the extreme quietness and the reluctance to join in with the other boys, the unexplained bruises and injuries and the unwillingness to discuss any of it. He looked down at his watch, and let out a gasp,
> 
> "oh god, I'm late" he stood up, "I'm sorry I've got to dash off Rimmer, but I've got an important meeting, I'll see you back at school, hope you feel better soon"
> 
> "bye, sir" said Rimmer, feeling decidedly better after his visit,
> 
> "bye, Arnold" said Mr Johnston, giving him a quick wave before closing the door gently behind him. It took Rimmer a few minutes to realise that his maths teacher, who at one point had been on his number 1 enemy list, he just called him by his first name. Like a friend.


	6. Rehab

> > Rimmer had never realised what a busy and dangerous place his school was before, in-between classes the corridors where a stampede of students and Rimmer felt that every one of them was watching him.
>> 
>> News had spread fast about his suicide attempt and then rumours started:
>> 
>> Rimmer had hung himself on the rugby posts.
>> 
>> He'd leapt off a bridge.
>> 
>> He'd shot himself in the head.
>> 
>> He'd drank some hydrochloric acid he'd stolen from the science department.
>> 
>> The list was endless as was the questions; Rimmer would often catch people staring at his bandaged wrists that his too small blazer failed to conceal. Mr Johnston had hauled the whole of Rimmer's maths class up to the headmaster's office, where they received a wrathful lecture, which left a handful of them in tears.
>> 
>> The only boy untroubled by the headmasters scalding was Brian Lawson, he'd been expelled from his last school for an extreme case of bullying, so one puny individual trying to top himself would hardly leave him racked with guilt. However Brian wasn't stupid, if he was caught bullying again he'd be kicked out of Io house, and his parents would kill him but he didn't want to stop throwing his weight around. It made him feel superior, and if he were knocked from him position of 'top dog' then this meant that pathetic wimpy Boneheads like Rimmer could take his place.
>> 
>> 'Still' thought Brian happily 'there are plenty of ways to remind people who's boss, without the teachers noticing!'  
  
Rimmer sat in English in his usual position head bowed, shoulders hunched, not making a peep. The class chattered quite nosily in the background.
>> 
>> Brian surveyed Rimmer with his hawk like eyes, now was the time to strike...he tapped the arm of the boy sat next to him "watch this" he said smugly. He weaved his way through the maze of desks before he reached Rimmer's; by this time half the class was watching, abandoning their work to observe the maltreatment of a fellow pupil. Rimmer felt his heart freeze as Brian's shadow fell across the desk; he slowly lifted his head to see his enemy grinning from ear to ear at him.
>> 
>> "Hello, Arnold" he said spitefully, he said Rimmer's name in the same threatening tone as when he says Bonehead.
>> 
>> "Go away" said Rimmer, in an inaudible whisper
>> 
>> "How are you feeling, Arnold? Are you okay?"
>> 
>> "Go away" hissed Rimmer, suddenly finding his voice,
>> 
>> Brian jumped back in mock surprise, "Well" he said haughtily, "I was only trying to be nice!"
>> 
>> Rimmer felt his blood boil, what was up with this...this creature, he'd pushed Rimmer so far that he felt the need to kill himself, and yet Brian was still here, laughing and joking as though trying to commit suicide was nothing. He was proud of what he'd done, proud that he'd tortured another human being so much they wanted to stop living. Rimmer was going to put a stop to it once and for all.
>> 
>> "trying to be nice?" he yelled, leaping to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process "this is what you trying to be 'nice' made me do" he fumble with each of the safety pins on the bandages and tore them off, "look" he screamed, thrusting the dark red, vicious scars into Brian's face, which turned slightly grey at the sight of them. Rimmer then turned round to show the rest of the class who were chuckling from his outburst, an eerie death like silence fell over the classroom.
>> 
>> Rimmer's breathing became shallow and erratic, he could feel the cuts, grinning in glee at the attention they were receiving, "this is what I did because all of you were 'nice' to me every single day, if that's what you set out to do, congratulations, you've succeeded spectacularly!" Rimmer brushed his curly hair out of his eyes, and strode out of the thunderstruck classroom, head held high.
>> 
>> He spent the remainder of the lesson outside in the corridor, trying to calm down. His recent show of anger and strength un-nerved him, where was this boy that could get knocked off his feet by a tennis ball, are would sometimes struggle carrying his books around all day.
>> 
>> When the bell finally rang, Rimmer prepared himself to go back in and grab his things, he waited while the class shuffled out, most of the class looked guilty, and sickened with themselves, some mumbled their apologises to Rimmer as they passed, but they were worthless, the damage had already done, their words had already shattered Rimmer's soul.
>> 
>> After the last boy had left, he tiptoed in and had just closed his hands round the handle of his bag, without being unnoticed when Mr Marten spoke.
>> 
>> "ah, Rimmer, may we have a little word?"
>> 
>> Rimmer flushed pink "is this about me walking out of class, sir?"
>> 
>> "no" said Mr Marten, gesturing for Rimmer to sit at a desk, nearest him "it's about your English essay"
>> 
>> "I've failed haven't I sir!?!" wailed Rimmer, frustration and disappointment flowing though his body like a infuriated tidal wave "I'm sorry, sir, but I tried this time, I really, really, really tried-"
>> 
>> "Rimmer-"interjected Mr Marten
>> 
>> "I was in the library for hours and hours trying to finish it , sir, my hand felt like it was going to drop off at the end-"
>> 
>> "Rimmer. You've passed!"
>> 
>> "I put every scrap, every ounce of effort I had and-" he paused and re- played his teachers words in his head. "I...I...passed?" he said doubtfully.
>> 
>> "yes," said Mr Marten, handing back his essay.
>> 
>> Rimmer couldn't take in what was being said, he couldn't have passed, he was Arnold Rimmer, and Arnold Rimmer and passed do not go together. There had to be some mistake He checked the name at the bottom, nope it was his name. Rimmer looked at his tiny signature and allowed his eyes to wander up the page to where an 'A' was emblazoned in the red ink he usually feared.
>> 
>> Rimmer was in shock, but it was a nice type of shock, he'd gone light headed and his fingers and toes were tingling. "but" he said at long last "how did I pass, sir. I didn't write about the correct topic"
>> 
>> Mr Marten smiled at Rimmer "a writers greatness is not determined by whether they can follow instructions on essays, but by what they write, be it on whatever subject. You have a gift, young man. You are able to capture a feeling, preserve a moment and write about it in a way most men can only dream of. You write with power, dignity and potency. You are blessed...and as for not writing by the rules, did Shakespeare write by the rules, did H.G Wells or Dickens? Would great writers produce masterpieces if they worked by the book. No, Rimmer, they would not, that's what makes them great. They go against the flow, break the rules, they rebel! And you, my young lad are already setting of on that inspired road to greatness!"
>> 
>> Rimmer sat staring at his English teacher aghast. He'd described him as 'gifted' and 'powerful, him Arnold J Rimmer, boring, plain Arnold J Rimmer, who failed at everything and was anything but special.
>> 
>> "is that all, sir?" he asked, still shocked.
>> 
>> "yes, you may go now, Rimmer"
>> 
>> He gratefully picked up his bag, and shuffled to the door in a daze. He quietly closed the door, and gazed his pass with wide-eyed joy. Rimmer smiled the largest smile he'd ever performed in his life. It didn't matter what happened after this, he could fail every test or pass every test with 112% for all he cared,
>> 
>> but he'd hold in his heart the pass he'd received today till the day he died, and even longer.
>> 
>> * * *
>> 
>> Okay, here's my thanks so far A BIG BIG BIG BIG
>> 
>> Thank you goes out to:
>> 
>> Feared Director
>> 
>> Jane Sherwood
>> 
>> EnJee
>> 
>> SnkNJak
>> 
>> lucid-03-days
>> 
>> Thank you sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much for taking the time to review my story, your comments brighten my day and make me want to write more stories.
>> 
>> Thanks again.
>> 
>> Ral-edge!! (I love you all)


	7. scars, shocks and sugar coated food stuf...

Okay, you've all been asking for it, so here it is, a little bit of Lister- ness, I hope you enjoy it...thanks again to everyone who reviewed...Ta!

* * *

Lister took a drag on his cigarette, and looked absent-mindedly up the corridor. Rimmer sat beside him, right leg jiggling about nervously, flattening down his rebelliously curly hair. Lister groaned inwardly, and shifted uncomfortably in the hard, straight backed metal chairs.

He and Rimmer were having a 'friendly, non aggressive, informal, strictly confidential, impartial' chat with the captain and few other people who didn't appear to do any work but sat in oversized, lavish offices, and bossing people about.

The meeting was to try and find a way for Rimmer and Lister to work together in some degree of harmony, and to stop the corridor of G deck every being turned into something that resembled a blown up buffet table every again. 3 weeks earlier Lister had 'accidentally on purpose' pressed the button for a black coffee when Rimmer's head was coincidently underneath the nozzle, this resulted in Rimmer's upper half being covered in stone cold chicken soup, hot chocolate, with two dollops of sugar and a side order of custard.

Lister had tried, in between laughs, to tell Rimmer it was an accident and that he should lighten up. Rimmer would probably have calmed down at this point if Lister hadn't added that he was now a lot more appealing to the opposite sex.

What followed was the biggest and most violent food fight the universe had ever seen, the walls of G deck was now completely covered in a array of food stuffs, reaching from blackcurrant flavoured Jelly to frozen cappuccino.

When Rimmer suddenly realised Lister was winning, he decided it was time to bring out the heavy artillery. It was at that precise moment that Captain Hollister decided to stretch his legs and walk to the auto-dispensing machine on G deck, he didn't take kindly to being covered from head to toe in bacon flavoured noodles, earl grey tea leaves, diet coke and coke.

It had taken 4 triple strength sedatives to get the Captain to calm down, he was giving Lister and Rimmer 3 weeks, 3 weeks to sort out their petty arguments and childish fights,

Rimmer had opened his mouth to protest to the 'childish' jab, but then having a food fight was a little bit childish. If they had not sorted out the fights, and were still trying to kill or at least maim each other every working day then they'd be off the ship,

Lister had at first welcomed this idea,

But then Hollister added, without a spacecraft and no oxygen tanks.

Lister wasn't worried about this meeting though, he and Rimmer could sweet talk their way out of trouble, but the way Rimmer was acting you'd think he was Jack the Ripper on judgement day.

Lister, having grown bored with staring down the corridor, glanced at Rimmer who was slowly undoing the buttons on his JMC uniform and gradually pulling the sleeves up. Lister's eyes widened as he spotted the two pale red slashes. They'd faded over the years but they still sat pride of place on Rimmer's wrists. Rimmer, sensing Lister gazed, hurriedly pulled down his sleeves guilty

"What you looking at?" he asked, irritably.

"Nothin'" Lister lied "I thought I saw some money on the floor" he turned away and busied himself with his cigarette lighter.

Rimmer made sure Lister wasn't watching, before sliding his sleeves back up and stared at the scars. They were on of the many burdens of Rimmer's life; he hated having them on show, people looked at him like he was some kind of head case that shouldn't be let near sharp objects. That's why he always wore long sleeved shirts, that way he could hide his impureness from the world and if he had to bare his lower arms, he'd take the utmost care not to show his scarred wrists to anyone.

He traced his fingers lightly along the gashes, it was his comfort blanket, it was the thing he did when he was nervous or afraid. It calmed him down, reminded him he'd been in worse situations then this and pulled through...sort of.

While Rimmer was doing this, Lister was lighting another cigarette to calm his nerves. He'd never have put Rimmer down as the type of person who'd try and kill themselves, but the more Lister thought about it, the more it made sense.

Rimmer would often cry out things in the middle of the night, while he tossed and turned,

Begging for his father to stop hitting him,

Pleading for his mothers help

Cursing his brothers,

And perhaps even stranger Gazpacho soup?

Lister had often been disturbed by Rimmer's night ranting, but he never mentioned it, it wasn't really the thing you bring up to casual conversation

"Hi, man d'you want a coffee, and by the way last night I heard you say in your sleep that you wanted to kill your dad, have you ever considered therapy, do you want sugar?"

That wouldn't go down well at all!

Lister sneaked a look at Rimmer, his eyes were dull, cold, full of pain and anguish, the type of eyes a person would wear if they'd given up hope or lost total faith in everything they ever believed in. His face was always competing to show a look of sheer angry and extreme sadness, and sometimes Rimmer looked like a little lost boy, stuck in a strange, forbidding world with no one to help him.

Until that moment, Lister had always thought that Rimmer was just a person who made a mountain out of a molehill, exaggerated things for the hell if it. He'd had a couple of bad rows with his parents like every teenager and made them seem worse then they were.

A once forgotten memory flashed across Lister mind, Kochanski had dumped him, and he was wallowing in self pity, and as a joke Lister had said he wanted to kill himself, Rimmer had exploded into a violent rage, asking if that was Lister's idea of a sick joke, and that laughing and joking about suicide and death was the poorest of the poor taste.

Lister decided to give Rimmer the benefit of the doubt, he was just about to speak when an overjoyed Todhunter emerged from a nearby office, he gave Rimmer a fleeting look of contempt before smiling.

"Right, gentlemen, if you'd like to follow me" he turned on his heels and quickly strode back into the office. "look, Rimmer-" said Lister, graciously getting up off the cold metal chair, not entirely sure how he was going to word his message of hope.

"What?" snapped Rimmer, agitatedly straightening out his uniform, beyond that office door lay death, not just career wise, why was Lister choosing now to have a heart to heart.

Rimmer went to stride after Todhunter, but Lister grabbed his arm

"hear me out man" he pleaded,

Rimmer frowned, but his expression softened when he realised Lister, for once, was being deadly serious, Lister gave Rimmer a reassuring pat on the back "if ever you need to talk" he gave him a small smile "I'm always here...always"

End

* * *

Okay, here's my little speech time, (don't say I didn't warn you).

Thanks again for your reviews, it means so much to writers to hear their work is enjoyed, and they only take a couple of seconds to write!

Thanks to my mates, a source of constant inspiration, (you're all great!), thanks to one mate in particular, Lizzy (for those of you who are wondering Lizzy is Elizabeth, Rimmer's love interest in 'The Teenage Years of a Loser Called Rimmer' I wrote her in as a character as a joke, but its gone horridly wrong, she enjoys the publicity attached to it and that means I know have to think of a new way of torturing her (thanks for the extra work Liz!) she spent many, many....many hours on MSN, giving me ideas, inspiration, and hem, hem constructive criticism, perhaps to constructive at times.

I'd like to recommend a book, its called Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and Kimberly Kirberger. It's a collection of stories about love, life, friends and learning. It's a great read and can often brighten your day and give you some faith.


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